The Strange Lives of Romano and Romano
by Samtastic Love
Summary: Non-linear drabbles in the lives of Romano and 2p!Femano.


Lovino stomps into his apartment, cursing incompetent drivers, idiotic jaywalkers, and the entire godforsaken world. Muttering angrily, he throws his navy blazer onto the coat rack and kicks his fine leather shoes next to the front door. He makes his way into the tidy kitchenette, deciding that the day's trials have earned him a drink or two.

From behind the irritated man comes, "Pour me a glass, why doncha, _fratello_?"

The Italian freezes in uncorking the bottle of merlot and slowly reaches for a switchblade he keeps in his pants pocket-he'll be damned if anyone finds out that he actually _likes _that grabby cheese bastard's alcohol, dammit!

Once he spots a tuft of wheat-colored hair out of the corner of his eye, though, he relaxes and retrieves a second tumbler, his bad mood easing somewhat in his visitor's presence. "I thought I changed all the locks after your last _visit_," a sneer in his voice at that word, "which you still haven't paid for the fucking damages yet, _sorella_."

There is a sound of bare feet padding across cheap linoleum, and two slender arms briefly wrap themselves around Lovino's waist before his visitor moves to sit on the counter in his range of sight where he can properly glare at her.

Chiara looks just as smug as ever, that damned red scarf she had picked up sometime in the seventies is loosely wrapped around her neck, a rather ragged end trailing on the counter top. She pushes overly large, pink sunglasses on top of her blond head and protests, "_I _didn't break anything, it was all Marco's fault. Doesn't your boss cover damage, anyway?"

"My furniture was fucking _ruined_," Lovino grits out, eye twitching dangerously as she nonchalantly extracts the tumbler of wine from his hand. "I had to buy a new goddamned set from a _discount store_, dammit!"

She winces. "_Discount store_? They would be that cruel?"

"I'm not exactly living like royalty anymore!" He snatches the tumbler back and knocks its contents back, wishing it was stronger. "Fuck, what are you here for _now _anyway? Goons better not fucking break down my door because I don't care if I get a pay dock, I'll _kill _those fuckers!"

With a melodramatic sigh, Chiara pouts, "I just came to invite you to dinner. I know your boss has been hounding you lately, and I figured a night in town might be a nice relaxer."

Now Lovino feels like an ass. Flushing, he mumbles a thanks and a reluctant apology.

Chiara grins and hops off of the counter, then pushing the other towards his bedroom. "Now c'mon, darling, go put on something nice," she leers. "I know you're gonna love this place."

* * *

Gazing stonily at the restaurant's sign, Lovino slowly says, "Why in the ever loving _fuck _would you bring me _here_, dammit?" He is a fucking good, no, _great _brother/twin/whatever! He never forgets birthdays, always arrives on time, and doesn't harass her (much) when she brings him a new recipe from Feli or Alice. Fuck, he even stayed out of her business when she started dating/fucking around with that hamburger bitch! And how is he repaid? With this, this _abomination_!

"Because they have fabulous Käsespätzle?" At the furious snarl, she adds, "What's the problem?!"

"I'm not stepping a fucking foot in that fucking place," he hisses, eying the black, red, and gold horizontally striped flags plastered above the doorway.

"Oh, come _on_," Chiara moans, stomping a foot on the cracked pavement. "We jumped all this way, we might as well eat. Just get over your prejudice already!"

He simply transfers his glare to her.

Seeing as that she is getting nowhere fast with this approach, she widens her eyes and makes a few tears well up. "_Please_, Mano?"

The pathetic eyes combined with the childhood nickname makes him relent and follow her into the little restaurant, though it doesn't stop him from grumbling nonstop how he would just _die _or possibly commit homicide if he was caught eating in one of the macho potato bastard's places.

After being told to sit "wherever" and waiting for a good ten minutes for a stressed server to come and ask for their drink orders, Lovino hisses, "And why the fuck were you so fucking adamant that we'd eat at this goddamned shithole?"

Chiara flips open her plastic menu and purses her lips. "I wasn't lying when I said this place has fabulous Käsespätzle. Oh, don't give me that look!"

Lovino quiets down when the server arrives with their drinks, but he can _feel _the Germanophilia around him giving him hives. And he had thought that this was supposed to _relax _him.

Leaning in and speaking in a low voice, the Italian woman questions, "Did you bring your wallet, Lovi?"

He tersely replies, "No, _idiota_, you told me to leave it fucking home and bring only my fucking I.D."

A mischievous smile spreads across Chiara's face. "Forgot mine at home, too. My oh my, how_ever_ shall we pay these German bastards?"

Lovino's head jerks up, his expression quickly mirroring his twin's. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"Now would be a good time to start," she smugly says.

* * *

A hour and a bottle of wine later, Lovino has to admit that the cheesy noodles _were _good, for potato bastards, and his mood is definitely improved.

Dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin, Chiara excuses herself then makes her way to the sole toilet in the back. After a few minutes, in which Lovino makes sure their server is occupied with another customer across the restaurant, he smoothly walks to the back. Once he shuts himself in the little room, making sure to leave the door unlocked, he closes his eyes and concentrates of a tiny apartment with cheap furniture and his brother's paintings on the walls.

Lovino drops to the carpeted floor with a yowl, missing his couch by a foot.

"Nice landing," Chiara laughs from somewhere in his bedroom.

"Fuck you," Lovino shouts back, sitting up and rubbing the lump on the back of his head. Without much grace, the Italian clambers onto the couch and allows himself to sink into the olive green cushions.

Moments later, Chiara waltzes into the room and throws open the windows before dropping onto the recliner beside the couch. "Really, I thought you were better," she smirks. "How long have you had this place, a couple of decades?"

"Shut the fuck up! When I had to buy new furniture because of those fucking _goons_-which I am still waiting on a reimbursement for the damage-shit got moved around."

The Italian woman hums. "I'll get some money from my boss and wire it to you. And if I can't get it from him, I'll beat it out of Marco."

Lovino is silent, and the two let the sounds of city life wash over them. Chiara's hand is stroking his head, careful to avoid that strand identical to hers, and the Italian man can feel the (somewhat) good food and slight buzz lulling him into a doze.

He knows by morning that she will be gone without leaving a trace of herself behind, windows and doors locked-because she _always _somehow has a key-and he'll be back in the office, stressed and ready to tear some interns head off, but . . .

Tonight was nice, even if they _did _go to a German restaurant. He'd like more nights like that.

* * *

Omake

The nameless server stops dead when she sees the stylish Italian couple's table, namely, because it is empty and there is no one in the restroom and no one had left the restaurant recently.

Dammit! Those assholes had left without paying!

Fuming, she snatches up their glasses and silverware and dumps it into her dirty dishes container. She sighs when something detaches from the bottom of the woman's plate and flutters underneath the table. Muttering foul curses to herself, she grabs it and frowns when the paper doesn't crinkle like she thought it would.

She unfolds her fingers, and in her hand is a hundred dollar bill with "Sorry!" written on it in loopy cursive. She cleans the table more carefully and finds several twenties and tens under the man's plate.

Smiling, the server thinks to herself that though they paid, they were still asses for giving her such a hard time.

* * *

There are a few things in here that are purely headcannon, such as:

- (Of course) The existance of 2p!Genderbend!Nations  
- 2p!Genderbend!Romano's name is Chiara, pronounced Key-_are_-ah; 2p!Genderbend!Italy's name is Alice, pronounced Ah-_lee_-che  
- A Nation can "jump" to anywhere in a blink, provided they and the destination are within that Nation's borders. Since Lovino and Chiara are both South _Italy_, they can move to anywhere in all of Italy; however, it takes a bit more effort to travel through northern Italy  
- The number of times Lovino swears increases drastically if encountering/viewing anything German  
- Lovino always carries a little bit of cash on him because sometimes he forgets his wallet at home; as a result, he often finds wrinkled bills in his laundry

Also, sorry for people that were expecting something hilarious by the title, but I fail at humor like that. I've got a very dry, often morbid sense of humor, and, though I love hilarious stories, I simply can't write them.

Please leave a review!


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